


It's Only A Flesh Wound!

by yodasyoyo



Series: Tumblr fics [8]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Clumsy Stiles Stilinski, Humor, M/M, cockblocked by a bed, sex injuries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-19
Updated: 2016-06-19
Packaged: 2018-07-16 01:47:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7247254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yodasyoyo/pseuds/yodasyoyo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles is away at college, he has a loft bed. It's, like, two feet away from the ceiling, and it's trying to cockblock him, or kill him. He's not sure which.</p><p>OR: Five times Stiles is cockblocked by his bed. One time he and Derek manage to get it on anyway.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's Only A Flesh Wound!

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mountain_ash](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mountain_ash/gifts).



> Written for the tumblr prompt: 
> 
> So guys. The thing about the tiny bedroom is that I’m living in it because I pay less rent than my roommates and it came with a lofted bed. But the thing about the lofted bed is that it is like, 2 feet away from the ceiling. And I can’t help but imagine that Stiles would also be a cheap little asshole during his last couple years of college and would take on such an arrangement himself in order to save some money. However, he and Derek have this long distance thing going right? And so Derek naturally has to visit Stiles now and again, but Stiles bed is SO CLOSE to the ceiling and there’s just no room for you know what and I’m just imagining all sorts of sexual hilarity ensuing...

1.  
The first time Derek visits him at college and they try to have sex in Stiles' bed, Stiles breaks his wrist in three places.  
  
It’s not his fault okay?  
  
He’s horny, and he hasn’t seen Derek in a couple of weeks, and there’s only, like, two feet of space between him and the ceiling.  
  
He just… He gets a little enthusiastic and, in the moment, he brings his hand down a little hard against the frame of the bed.

For one moment his vision whites out, and then there’s just searing pain.

They spend the rest of the evening at the emergency room, where Stiles gets a hefty looking cast. When they get back, Derek won’t even sleep in the same bed as him. He’s too afraid he’s going to roll over on to Stiles’ wrist in the night.

The whole thing sucks.

And Stiles?  
  
Stiles blames the fucking bed.

  
2.  
It takes weeks before the stars align again.  
  
Weeks before he’s out of his cast, Derek is free to visit and his roommate is gone.  
  
_Weeks._  
  
And Stiles has needs okay.

_Needs._

So it’s not his fault if, when Derek arrives, he herds him to his bedroom straight away, without offering him a drink or a bite to eat.

He’s horny.

He's so, so _horny,_ and who knows when Derek might get the chance to visit again?

Things are going well. He’s got Derek all laid out under him on the stupid bed, and he’s kissing and licking a trail down Derek’s abs, because they’re good abs, and they deserve all the attention, but his end goal is Derek’s glorious dick.

“You sure you’re okay?” Derek asks.  
  
He keeps asking.  
  
It’s annoying.  
  
One time Stiles breaks his wrist during sex and he’s never going to be allowed to live it down.

“M'fine,” Stiles hums.

“You’re _sure_?” Derek’s breath is coming out in little stabby gasps now, and he’s hands are fisted in the sheets.

“I said, I’m fine.” Stiles insists.

“Because… last time-” Derek pants out, a mischievous look in his eye.

Stiles is done. “Look-” he begins, head whipping up in indignation. “Shit, motherfucker, fuck, shit!”

He’d forgotten how close his head was to the damn ceiling.

“Are you okay?” Derek asks.

“I’m fine.” There’s something warm and sticky trickling down by his ear.

“You don’t look fine.” Derek sniffs the air. “ _Jesus,_ Stiles! You’re bleeding.”

 _“You’re_ bleeding.” It's not his best comeback. He’s aware he sounds petulant, but this is not cool.

Derek glares at him.

“It’s only a flesh wound!” Stiles tries, hopefully. “I’m fine. Let’s keep going.” His head feels a little muzzy. He blinks at Derek owlishly.  
  
_What were they doing again?_

Derek rolls his eyes. “I’m not having sex with you when you’re bleeding and possibly concussed.” He starts to wriggle down the bed. Which… no, this is not how this evening is supposed to go.

Stiles reaches out and touches the sticky-sore spot on his skull, gingerly. “Where are you going?”

“ _We_ are going to the emergency room.”

“But-”

“No arguments.”

Fuck.

 

3.  
The third time they try and have sex in that bed, Derek insists that Stiles be the one to lay on it. The last two incidents have occurred with Stiles hovering over Derek, and Stiles guesses he sees Derek's point. How much damage can Stiles do lying on the goddamn bed? Even one as cramped as this.  
  
Quite a bit as it turns out. 

He accidentally knees Derek in the balls.  
  
It's a real mood killer.

So, no sex for Stiles, _again._

He's beginning to notice a theme.

  
4.  
The fourth time they attempt sex, he manages to slip as he’s climbing into the bed and sprains his ankle. He’d say he can’t believe it, but he’s almost starting to _expect_ disaster at this point.

His bed is evil.

It’s the only rational conclusion to draw.

His bed is trying to kill him, or worse, cock-block him.

He suggests this to Derek who glares at him balefully from where he’s crouched down, holding a bag of frozen peas against Stiles’ ankle.

“Yeah, the _bed_ Stiles. That’s the problem.”

“It _is_ ,” Stiles insists.

They’re going to have to agree to disagree about this.

  
5.  
They almost don’t bother to try again.  
  
Honestly? Blue balls are almost preferable to another trip to the emergency room. But then they hit that sweet spot, where Derek is visiting and Stiles’ roommate is out for the evening, and they just can’t resist okay? It’s been weeks, _months_ even. Stiles isn’t going to let it become _years_.

Amazingly enough, it all seems to be working out.

They are on the bed.  
  
Foreplay has occurred, is occurring... _whatever_.  
  
Nobody has sustained any injuries.  
  
It’s going well.  
  
They’re gearing up to move things on to the next level.  
  
The bed creaks ominously.

They both ignore it.

Orgasms are going to happen. Okay? Mutual _fucking_ orgasms. Nothing is going to get in the way of that this time.

Things are beginning to get a little hot, a little heavy, a little frantic. The bed is creaking rhythmically. Derek moans, his breath gusting warmly past Stiles' ear.   
  
Things are going well.

This is _it_.

They’re not _quite_ there yet, but it’s the furthest they’ve managed to get in months.  
  
The bed creaks angrily.

 _Fuck you bed_ , Stiles thinks viciously, _we’re doing it this time_.  _You can't stop it._  
  
It's like the bed can read his mind.

It collapses.

It _fucking_ collapses.

One minute they’re mid… whatever.

The next thing, BOOM! Stiles, Derek, and the mattress are on the floor surrounded by splintered pieces of wood and the remnants of  Stiles' furniture.

 _Goddamn it_.

  
+1

Stiles has a new bed.  
  
It’s still a loft bed, but hopefully it doesn’t hate him.  
  
_Hopefully._

Derek comes over for the weekend and they both stand there, staring at the new bed, suspiciously.

“It’s brand new,” Stiles says carefully, “It’ll probably be fine.”

Derek’s eyes narrow. “I don’t trust it.”

“You want to just make a nest of blankets on the floor?”

Derek nods, looking relieved. “Yeah. I think it’s for the best.”

Stiles grins, and together they drag the mattress, and all the bedding down off his new bed. They set it all up on the floor, cosy and snug.  
  
_Oh yeah._     
  
This is happening.  
  
-

Afterwards, they lay snuggled together, enjoying the afterglow.

“That was much better,” Stiles murmurs, arms wrapped around Derek. Derek likes to be the little spoon.

“Hmmm,” Derek hums. He’s always drowsy and incoherent after sex.

“We should always do this, it’s much safer down here on the floor.”

Because he’s faced down all kinds of supernatural shit over the years. Werewolves, a kanima, witches, and one thing that might have been a wendigo, but loft beds are actually _fucking_ dangerous, okay?

Later, when Stiles tries to get up to pee, he trips over the blankets and brains himself on his desk.

He ends up with a broken nose.

Okay, it's possible it wasn’t the bed’s fault after all.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to anyone who leaves kudos or a comment. You are all wonderful. This fic was posted to [tumblr](http://yodas-yo-yo.tumblr.com/) and then I cross posted it here.


End file.
